


and even if i heard you (which i don't) / i'm spoken for i fear

by memorysdaughter



Series: got your heart in a headlock [6]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blind Character, Blindness, Disability, Disabled Character, F/F, Medical Procedures, Physical Disability, hearing loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:42:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28646991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memorysdaughter/pseuds/memorysdaughter
Summary: “That’s the thing about luck - you don’t have to believe in it if someone else believes in it for you.”Yasha tries to help Beau recover from a medical emergency.  Along the way, she realizes their relationship might change, no matter if she wants it to or not.
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett/Yasha
Series: got your heart in a headlock [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1472777
Comments: 22
Kudos: 115





	and even if i heard you (which i don't) / i'm spoken for i fear

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sixth work in my favorite AU series. I'm still in love with it, and if you're reading this, thanks for sticking around!
> 
> I refuse to apologize for bringing Dina into this and continuing to write Ellie into this series. I just think they're neat. (And I also have a parallel fic to this one that focuses on them, but I haven't done much with it so far.)
> 
> The line "Say more right now!" is from the great John Mulaney.
> 
> The title's from "Into the Unknown" from "Frozen 2."

_run and tell that_

Yasha sits on the front porch, fiddling with the zipper on her fleece sweater. She likes the sweater; Beau bought it for her, telling her it was a beautiful green color, and also sparing no words to further declare how good Yasha looks in it. But she’s not sure about the zipper. It itches against her neck sometimes, and Yasha’s spent a not-insignificant amount of time wondering if her skin’s become more sensitive since she was blinded. It probably doesn’t help that the zipper occasionally rests against some of the scar tissue left behind from a flash-bomb back in Xhorhas, and sometimes it makes the scar tissue twitch and burn.

 _Maybe Beau can get one without a zipper,_ she thinks.

“Yasha?”

“Huh?” Yasha lets go of the zipper.

“I said, hi, we’re here.”

“Oh!” Yasha realizes her guests for the morning have arrived, and both have probably spent the last however-many minutes staring at her as she plays with her sweater zipper. Her cheeks feel hot.

“Are you ready to go?”

“Yes,” Yasha says. She stands up, picking up her cane from the porch next to her. She makes her way down the front walk.

“Are you all right?”

Yasha stops next to the girl with the concerned voice. “I’m okay. Just… thinking about things.”

“Well, stop that.” The voice carries a smile with it, and a hand reaches out to squeeze Yasha’s.

As far as routines go, Yasha’s pretty pleased with her newest one: running on Saturday mornings with Ellie and Ellie’s girlfriend, Dina. Yasha had originally been surprised that Ellie _had_ a girlfriend, but both Dina and Joel explained that the girls had been dating before Ellie’s stroke, and Dina just… never left.

Yasha likes that. She likes that it’s possible for people to stay together through crises and medical issues, and that maybe she and Beau aren’t the only ones out there making things work. That maybe there are good people in the world who can see past the brokenness of their partners.

“Yahhh,” Ellie says.

Yasha reaches out and finds Ellie’s chair, then reaches down to squeeze the fingers of her running partner. “Hi, Ellie.”

“How far do you want to go today?” Dina asks.

“Beau asked me to be back around noon, so we can have lunch with Jester and Fjord before they leave for vacation,” Yasha says. “So maybe we could do the elementary school loop?”

It’s a three-mile loop, passing behind the Meloran Montessori School, close to the ocean. Yasha loves to hear the gulls and smell the ocean waves. She’d never been anywhere close to the ocean when she lived in Xhorhas, and sometimes it’s still hard to believe she gets to live in a place where she could visit the ocean every day if she wants to.

“Sounds good,” Dina says.

Yasha folds up her cane and hands it to Dina. In response, Dina hands Yasha the end of their running tether. Yasha’s already wearing her bright green “BLIND RUNNER” vest; she clips the tether around her waist and stands up straight, letting the cool morning air blow strands of hair across her face.

“Let’s rock,” Dina says.

They start out at an easy pace, Dina pushing Ellie’s running chair and Yasha bobbing along in their wake. Dina keeps up a steady stream of vocal cues and Ellie chirps, clicks, and lets out little fragments of words every now and then. Yasha loves how their voices weave together - _okay, Yasha, left turn coming up in three, two - rah! - one -_ and she thinks how happy she is to be out in the sunshine. The light that gently warms her body feels like it’s peeling back layers of sadness.

Just after the two-mile mark, which is the bakery on the corner of Crest Street and Chateau Avenue, and which Yasha always appreciates due to the delicious smells that emanate from the building, Dina says, something tense in her voice, “Slow down a minute, okay?”

Dutifully Yasha drops her pace, slowing as she moves towards her running partners. As she reaches Dina and Ellie, she hears Dina speaking in a low voice, and gasps from the area of Ellie’s chair.

“Dina?” Yasha says, nervousness tingling down her spine.

“It’s okay,” Dina says, the slightest tinge of unease in her voice. “Ellie’s having a seizure.”

“Do we… do I… can I help?” Yasha wishes she had her cane, or her worry stones. She needs something to hold onto.

“We just wait it out,” Dina says. “I’ll let you know if that changes.”

Ellie’s gasps turn to choking noises, and Dina tenderly says, “It’s okay. Just hang on. Just keep breathing. I’m right here.”

Her voice reminds Yasha of Beau’s, when Beau parts the tangles of a nightmare and puts a hand out to Yasha. When Beau holds Yasha close. When Beau keeps Yasha from disappearing under the seas of trauma and history and pain.

Yasha reaches forward and finds the push-bar of Ellie’s chair, gripping it tightly. She’s useless. She can’t figure out what she should be doing but she knows she isn’t doing it.

“It’s okay. You’re doing great. Just breathe.”

The choking slows and Yasha hears Ellie’s breathing return to almost-normal. “Dahhh,” Ellie moans.

“Good girl,” Dina says. “Good girl. Stay with me. We’ll get you home.”

Dina’s voice gets closer. “Yasha, we need to go home. Is it okay if we go back towards Town Square Market and separate there? That’s mid-way for both of us.”

Yasha, her fingers still wrapped around the bar, manages to say, “Yeah. Yeah. That’s okay.”

Dina unsnaps the running tether from around them and tries to hand Yasha her cane. “Yasha, it’s okay. It’s over. You can let go of the chair.”

“I want to,” Yasha says, her voice struggling to come out. “I want to.”

“Okay,” Dina says gently. “Let’s just walk together for a bit and see how things go.”

By the time they reach the market Yasha’s fingers are able to come loose from the chair handle and find her cane, and she only feels mildly embarrassed about her inability to think or move just moments before. She says, “Are you sure you two will be okay?”

“Yes,” Dina assures her. It’s what she was expecting, because Dina has never, in all the time Yasha’s known her, been anything less than at least “okay.”

Dina squeezes Yasha’s hand. “Be safe on your walk home. Text me when you get there, okay?”

“I will,” Yasha says.

They part ways. Yasha orients herself to the blocks around the market and turns for home. As she’s walking her phone dings in her pocket, signaling in an incoming text message. She slows and pulls out the phone, tapping the correct pattern to access the text-reader program.

 _“Text from: Jester,”_ the phone informs her. _“Hello Yasha. I hope your run is great. Fjord and I are leaving early to meet Mama at the airport for an earlier flight, so you don’t need to be home at noon. Beau’s here whenever you get back. I’ll bring you a souvenir from vacation!”_

Yasha smiles and feels the rest of her worry dissipate. Jester and Fjord have been talking up their vacation for weeks now, and Yasha has to admit she’s pretty excited to see what kind of things Jester will bring back from the resort in Vesrah as souvenirs. Whatever it’ll be, she doubts it will top the thickly-sequined fezzes Fjord had passed out upon his return from the Melora’s Men’s Retreat the year previous. (Why fezzes? Yasha still has no idea.)

* * *

_all fall apart_

She makes her way back home at an easy pace, only a little disappointed that their run had to end early and she wasn’t able to smell the ocean. There will be other ocean days, and Yasha knows all too well the consequences of attempting too much on a bad day.

As she opens the front door, Yasha calls out, “Beau! I’m home a little early.”

There’s no response.

“Beau?” Yasha moves further into the house, closing the door behind her. “Beau, it’s me!”

No answer.

Frowning now, Yasha moves past the sitting room, into the living room, and opens the back door to the yard. “Beau?”

She hears the wind through the trees and the windchimes she and Beau hung around their small garden, but no vocal response.

The worry comes back to Yasha’s stomach, worse this time. She goes back into the kitchen and runs her fingers over the table, looking for a note. There isn’t one, even though Beau has a now-functional use of non-contracted Braille and often leaves little love letters for Yasha to find.

Yasha takes her cell phone out of her pocket and taps the screen. _“No messages,”_ it informs her.

Her stomach pulses with nausea and Yasha has to force herself to go up the stairs. “Beau?” she manages to say. She steels herself and tries again, louder. _“Beau?”_

Nothing.

Hands trembling, Yasha reaches out for the doorknob to the bathroom and tries to open the door. It opens a few inches before bumping into something. Yasha tries again, pushing against the door with what feels like all her strength. It still won’t move.

Her heart racing now, Yasha bolts down the hallway and into her own room, with its own door to access the bathroom. She trips, sprawling to the floor, her cane clattering behind her. It’s hard to breathe but Yasha forces herself to crawl forward to the bathroom door, reach up, and open it. On her hands and knees she makes her way across the tile floor and reaches out for whatever’s blocking the hallway door.

It’s fabric she feels first, a soft fleece just like the one she’s wearing. Yasha grips into it, pulls it towards her, and weight comes along it. Body weight, but dead weight. She can’t breathe.

“Beau,” she sobs. “Beau.”

There’s still no answer. Yasha runs her hands over Beau’s body, trying to find an injury, a wound, something that would explain Beau’s unconsciousness. There’s something sticky on Beau’s head and it feels far too much like blood. She puts her head to Beau’s chest and holds her own breath, waiting to feel Beau’s chest rise and fall. When it does, Yasha runs her hands down Beau’s arm, fingers brushing against the Braille tattoo in the way she does so often, placing her fingertips against Beau’s pulse.

After far too long, it beats against Yasha’s fingers and she has a split second to remember wondering about too-sensitive skin that morning before she sucks in a breath and tries not to scream.

_She’s not Zuala. She’s alive. She needs help._

Every movement is excruciating. Yasha can’t stop holding her breath. She doesn’t want to let go of Beau’s body.

_Beau needs help. You have to do it._

“I can’t,” Yasha sobs. “I can’t.”

 _You_ _have_ _to get help._

She jerks her hand to her pocket and digs out her phone, keeping her other hand wrapped around Beau’s wrist like a life raft in stormy seas. She taps the phone screen. “Call Keg,” she says, unsure of what else to do.

_“I’m sorry, I didn’t understand that.”_

“Call _Keg!”_ Yasha half-screams to the phone.

_“Calling Keg.”_

Yasha puts her head down against Beau’s chest, tears streaming down her face. “Wake up,” she whispers to Beau. “Please wake up.”

“Yasha? What’s going on?” Keg’s voice resonates through the bathroom and Yasha momentarily wonders where it’s coming from.

“Keg,” she says. “Keg.”

“I’m here,” Keg says, her voice calm and firm. “Can you tell me what’s going on?”

“Beau,” Yasha manages to say before another wave of tears breaks over her. “Beau, she’s…”

“Does she need help?”

Yasha nods.

“Yasha?”

“Yes. Beau. Please.”

“Okay,” Keg says, still unflappable. “I’ll call the emergency services and I’ll come over myself. Are you okay?”

“Beau. Beau is… please… I need…” Yasha’s gasping for air now. In the back of her head all she can think of is Ellie’s gasping, and she wonders if she’s going to be sick on the bathroom floor.

“I’m on my way. I have to hang up to call emergency services, okay? I can call you right back after that.”

It hurts to breathe. Yasha hugs Beau tighter to her and the phone slips from her fingers.

* * *

_when you find me_

When Keg arrives, mere moments before the emergency services, she finds both Yasha and Beau unconscious on the floor of the bathroom. Beau’s head bleeds from a sink-edge-shaped wound, and Yasha seems covered in Beau’s blood and a not-insubstantial amount of her own vomit, which spatters the floor as well.

“Help her first,” Keg orders the EMTs, pointing to Beau. “Beauregard Lionett. I think the other one had a panic attack and passed out.”

For whatever reason - maybe it’s the fact that they haven’t ever had a five-foot-nothing woman with two prosthetic legs give them directions before - they nod and set to work on Beau. Keg approaches Yasha and rolls her over, getting down with only some difficulty to the floor. “Yasha,” she says gently. “Yasha.”

Keg takes Yasha’s hand in hers and squeezes. Yasha’s Xhorhassian-pale skin is freezing, and Keg squeezes again, trying to warm it up. “Hey, Yasha. I need you to listen. Open your eyes.”

 _“Xea xjavay bez,”_ Yasha mumbles.

“They are helping her first,” Keg says, getting closer to Yasha’s ear. “But I’m worried about you. Open your eyes for me.”

_“Xa da’eshem.”_

“I know you’re blind. I want to see if you can follow directions.”

 _“Xa da’eshem…_ and I couldn’t help her,” Yasha blurts out, and her eyes flash open as she jerks upright, nearly knocking Keg over. “I couldn’t help her!”

“Shh, shh, I know,” Keg says, reaching out to put her hands on Yasha’s shoulders. “I know. You did your best. And there’s people here now who are helping Beau.”

“I couldn’t help her,” Yasha sobs. “I couldn’t help her.”

Keg leans in again, wrapping her arms around Yasha’s shaking body. “It’s going to be okay.”

“I couldn’t… I couldn’t…”

“You have to keep breathing,” Keg says firmly. “Follow my breathing.”

She takes one of Yasha’s hands and places it against her own chest, continuing to breathe calmly. Yasha’s gaspy breathing fills Keg’s ears but she keeps Yasha’s hand in place, steadily keeping a normal breath pattern.

“Ma’am,” one of the EMTs says after a long few minutes. “Ms. Lionett’s ready for transport to the hospital. Would you like to accompany us?”

“No,” Keg answers. “We’ll follow behind you.”

“Understood,” the EMT says with a nod. He motions to his colleagues, who wheel the stretcher into the hallway and disappear.

“Yasha,” Keg says, going back to the woman still wrapped in her arms, “I want to take you to Beau, so you can be with her. But I can’t, unless you stay calm. Do you understand?”

Yasha’s blank eyes flick back and forth, still glassy with tears. “Beau,” she says.

“Yes. We want to go be with Beau at the hospital,” Keg reminds her. “So we have to be calm.”

She looks over Yasha’s form, noting the blood spatters and vomit streaks across Yasha’s sweater, pants, hands, and face. “And… we have to do a couple other things first.”

“Keg.”

“Yeah?”

“If I… if I wasn’t blind, could I have helped her?”

“You did help her,” Keg says. “You got her help.”

“But I could have…”

“We don’t get ‘could haves,’” Keg says, a little more firmly. It’s a topic she knows far too much about. “We get to do things, and then based on those things, we get to do other things. You did the right things, Yasha. You got help for Beau - now let me help you.”

Yasha’s body refuses to stop shaking, not even as Keg prods her through a change of clothing, not even as Keg wipes the blood and vomit Yasha can’t see from her hands and face, not even as she gets drunkenly to her feet, leaning perhaps more than is strictly safe on a cane definitely not made to support body weight, not even as Keg buckles her seatbelt.

If Keg notices - which Yasha’s sure she does - she says nothing.

But she squeezes Yasha’s hand, and at least one part of Yasha’s body is still.

* * *

_sleep is for the weak_

Beau jerks awake, ears ringing, in some sort of closed metal space. It feels too much like a coffin for her to be comfortable in any way. She screams and punches up at whatever’s holding her in; her fist slams into a curved metal piece overhead and the sensation drills into her knuckles and resonates down her arm into her elbow.

“Miss Lionett!” a voice says sharply, loud, close to only one of her ears. “Miss Lionett, you’re in the hospital having a CT scan.”

 _What?_ Beau’s thoughts are scrambled, but she definitely doesn’t remember _this_ activity on the plan for today.

“You were found unconscious at your home,” the loud voice continues. “We’re taking a scan of your head. Please lie back and try to relax, and we’ll be finished in a few minutes.”

Beau swallows. “Where’s Yasha?” she asks. Her voice sounds funny, like she’s got water in one of her ears.

“Please lie back and try to relax,” the loud voice reminds her. “No talking.”

Beau lies back, her pulse racing. _Where is Yasha? What happened?_

There’s a _whoosh_ as the machine starts up, followed by a loud mechanical throbbing. The noise slides towards only one of Beau’s ears, but the entire process is dizzying. Black spots appear in her vision and she tenses her hands into fists.

She has no idea how long the rest of the procedure lasts, but when she slides out of the machine, back into a dimly lit room, she’s gasping for air and shaking as though the room is freezing instead of a comfortable temperature.

“Ms. Lionett,” someone says, the voice wobbling.

Beau wonders if she’s just concussed. She’s been concussed before. How bad could it be? She squints her eyes and tries to focus on the person approaching her. “Yeah,” she says.

“We’re going to lift you back on the stretcher, and then I’ll take you back to your room.”

“Okay,” Beau says blearily. She looks up and sees two people over her. They reach in, grabbing for the sheets and blankets wrapped around her body, and before she can process what’s happening she’s in the air - just for a second - and then set down again.

She closes her eyes as the stretcher starts moving. “Where’s… Yasha?”

“Who?” The man’s voice sounds weird.

“My… girlfriend. Is she here?”

“I’m not sure,” the man says.

Beau reaches up and pushes her finger in on her ear, trying to figure out what the problem is with her hearing. Nothing changes as she brings it away, except for the sudden realization that her finger is wet with blood. “Hey…” she says to the orderly. “My ear’s…”

There’s a sudden ringing noise in her head that cuts off any further statement, and the black spots dance in front of her eyes again. She takes a deep breath and her hands tingle at the sudden rush of oxygen. It does nothing to abate the ringing or the black spots.

“I just need… I need… some help,” Beau slurs. “I need…”

“The nurse will be in to see you in just a minute, Ms. Lionett.”

Beau grits her teeth. The room pitches around her.

She tries very, _very_ hard not to pass out.

She doesn’t succeed.

  
  
A hand squeezes hers, and she feels faint rumblings, vibrations in her chest. She turns her head towards it, and the rumblings clear into words: “ - your eyes, Beau.”

“Wha’s wrong with my eyes?” Beau slurs.

“Just open them.” It’s Dr. Trickfoot, her voice soft and gentle.

Beau complies, taking in the bright light of the tan room around her. “‘M in th’ hospital.”

“Yes.” Dr. Trickfoot’s fingers move to Beau’s pulse.

 _“Why’m_ I in th’ hospital?”

“You passed out at home and hit your head on the sink.”

“Oh.” Beau thinks about this. “Oh, no. Did…?”

Dr. Trickfoot nods. “Yasha found you.”

“Shit.” The ringing is coming back. Beau brings one hand up to her ear.

Dr. Trickfoot moves around to the other side of the bed, closer to the ringing ear. Beau hears the rumbling again. “What?” she asks.

Only ringing and vibrations.

 _“What?”_ Beau repeats, louder.

Dr. Trickfoot comes to the end of the bed. “I think you’re losing the hearing in your right ear.”

A sick flash of despair rushes through Beau’s body. _If I’m deaf and Yasha’s blind - what the_ _fuck_ _are we going to do?_

Dr. Trickfoot sits down on a stool and rolls herself closer to Beau’s left side, bringing with her a computer on a wheeled cart. “The scan that was done on your head found something.”

Now Beau really wants to vomit.

“It’s called a cholesteatoma,” Dr. Trickfoot says. She taps at the computer’s keyboard before turning the monitor to face Beau.

“That sounds like cancer.” Beau looks at the blurry black-and-white image on the screen. She has no idea what she’s supposed to look for.

“It’s not.” Dr. Trickfoot brings up a pen and indicates part of the screen. “It’s a cyst that’s grown inside your ear canal. Yours has expanded to the point where it’s damaging what’s inside your ear. Have you had any weird symptoms lately? Dizziness, ear pressure, pain?”

“Well, yeah, but I work in a dojo,” Beau says. “I thought it was just from getting hit during sparring last week.”

Dr. Trickfoot frowns.

“So, what do we do for this?” Beau asks. Her mind is clearing, but the ringing isn’t going anywhere.

“You’ll need to have surgery to carve out the cyst,” Dr. Trickfoot says. “But Beau, I was serious when I said I think you’re going to lose your hearing.”

“In both ears?” The sick feeling slams into Beau again. _I can’t be deaf._

“No, just the one with the cyst. From looking at the scan it’s clear your cyst has grown to the point where it’s broken bones inside the ear canal. Surgery might be able to clear the area and it’s possible a reconstruction could help, but that’ll be the very best outcome.”

“Fuck.” Beau puts one hand to her head.

“Right now all you need to worry about is resting,” Dr. Trickfoot says. “I’ll write a referral to a surgeon and we can get you out of here.”

She stands up, rolling the computer away from the bedside.

“Is Yasha here?” Beau asks.

“Yes. Keg brought her in.”

“Can I… can I see her?”

“I’ll see if she’s calmed down.”

_Fuck fuck fuck. Why did it have to be Yasha who found me?_

Beau leans back against the raised head of the bed, putting her hand over her eyes.

  
  


Keg squeezes Yasha’s hand. “Are you ready?”

Yasha nods. She’s still trying to find her voice, even though they’ve been at the hospital for two hours. Keg’s kept the mood light, talking about nothing and everything, and Yasha’s appreciated the banter, even if she can’t figure out how to participate in it.

“Okay. Take my elbow.”

Yasha reaches out for Keg’s arm, her cold fingers gripping Keg’s wool-sweater-covered elbow. She follows Keg through the hospital corridor, her cane keeping up a mindless _tick-tick_ rhythm as they move.

Eventually Keg says, “We’re here. Do you want me to come in with you?”

“Yes, please,” Yasha whispers.

“Anything for you,” Keg says. She knocks on a door, and Yasha hears Beau’s voice from the other side: “Come in!”

Just hearing Beau’s voice relaxes something in Yasha and she feels tears build up in her eyes again.

Keg steps forward, and, attached to her elbow, Yasha moves forward too.

“Hey,” Beau says as they enter. “Hey, how are you?”

“I love you,” Yasha manages to say before she starts crying.

“C’mere,” Beau says.

Keg takes Yasha’s hand from her elbow and gently extends Yasha’s fingers towards Beau’s outstretched hands. Immediately Yasha’s fingers go to Beau’s wrist, searching for the self-comfort of the Braille tattoo. When she finds it, she bows her head over Beau’s arm, sobbing.

“It’s okay,” Beau says, and reaches up to stroke Yasha’s hair.

“You gonna be okay?” Keg asks, only slightly brusquely.

Beau tilts her head left-to-right and shrugs in the universal gesture of _I guess we’ll see._ It causes her head to start ringing again.

“Whatever you need, I’m here,” Keg says. She pulls up the visitor’s chair. “Yasha, sit down, okay?”

Yasha allows Keg to gently pull her backwards into a chair. She clings to Beau’s hands.

“I’ll go stand outside,” Keg says once Yasha’s seated.

"Thanks,” Beau says.

Once it’s just the two of them, Beau turns back to Yasha. “Hey, Yash. You have to talk to me.”

“I thought…” Yasha gets out, and then she hiccups. “I thought you were dying.”

“That must have been very scary.” Beau strokes Yasha’s face. “I’m glad you found me, though, and got help for me.”

“I could have done more.”

“Like what?”

“If I wasn’t blind… I could have taken you to the hospital myself.”

“How would you have gotten me down the stairs?”

“I’m really strong! I would have done it!”

“I know,” Beau says, her heart breaking. “I promise, you did enough.”

She luxuriates in the feeling of Yasha’s thumb moving over her tattoo. “I have to tell you something, though. They did a scan of my head and found a cyst inside it.”

Yasha freezes.

“It’s not cancer,” Beau goes on, speaking carefully. “They can get it out. But there’s a side effect that I’m already experiencing.”

She squeezes Yasha’s hand. “I’m going to lose the hearing in my right ear.”

“Oh, Beau,” Yasha whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

“Are you still going to love me?” Beau asks, trying to keep her voice light and jokey.

_“Beau.”_

“Hey, I might not be as attractive with a hearing aid.”

“Beau, I can’t even see you!” Yasha protests, but Beau sees a small smile starting to build on her lips.

“What if I had one of those big ear trumpet things?”

“I’d love you even then.” The smile gets bigger.

“What if I get a guy named, like, Jerry, or something, to follow me around and just shout things at me? Like a reverse interpreter.”

Yasha lights up, and a sly expression crosses her lips. “He might get in the way in certain circumstances.”

 _“Those,_ my dear, I think we’ll do purely by touch.”

* * *

_what about us_

“No, Jes, you don’t have to come home early.” Beau sighs.

“Beau! They found a _tumor_ in your head.”

“It’s not a tumor, it’s a cyst,” Beau says patiently.

“What’s the difference?”

Beau hears Fjord say something in the background, and then Jester says, “Oh. Well, it’s still bad!”

“I’ve got Yasha here,” Beau points out. “We’re fine. She’s making snacks and I’m sitting here considering what episode of ‘Mystery Science Theater 3000’ I want to watch.”

“Beau,” Jester says, her tone becoming more serious, “do you really think you’ll be okay with _just_ Yasha?”

“What does that mean, Jessie?”

“Oh, you know,” Jester says. “I just… I worry about you.”

“Because Yasha’s blind, you think she can’t take care of me? Or that I’m somehow not capable of taking care of myself? All I’ve got is a headache, some stitches in my head, and a ringing noise in my ears - I’m not immobile on a fainting couch somewhere.”

“What if you pass out again?”

“Then I pass out again,” Beau says. “And Yasha calls the emergency number - Keg told her what it is, so she knows it now - and I get to go back to the hospital to see Dr. Trickfoot or some colleague of hers.”

“You can’t really be so blasé about this.”

“Jes, what do you want me to say? I’m not going to die while you’re gone, and you should at least spend some time with your parents and Fjord.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line.

“Jessie, what is it?”

“I know Yasha’s capable of doing a lot, but… I just don’t know if she should be alone with you.”

“She’s alone with me all the time, and so far neither of us has died. What are you talking about?”

 _“Fjord,”_ Jester says, clearly irritated.

“Hello, Beau,” Fjord says a few beats later.

“Please tell Jester she’s overreacting. You’ll be home next week, and Yasha and I have a full bevy of friends at our disposal to help us out if we need help. _Which we don’t.”_

"She is right, Jessie,” Fjord says.

 _“Thank_ you.”

“Fine,” Jester says, and Beau hears a pout in that one word.

“We’ll talk to you later,” Fjord says. “Take care of yourself.”

“Have fun on vacation,” Beau answers.

“The most fun, I promise,” Fjord says.

Beau hangs up and stares at the Netflix menu, trying to decide if she wants to make Yasha watch “Avalanche” for the fifth time. Beau loves it, but it might be too irritating for Yasha, who doesn’t really get the appeal of MST3K.

She hears the _tip-tip_ of Yasha’s cane getting closer, and looks up over the back of the couch. “How’s things?”

“They’re okay,” Yasha says. She comes into the room and sets a tray down on the coffee table, then puts her cane on the floor and sits down on the couch next to Beau. “How was Jester?”

“She was…” Beau sighs and looks over at the tray of snacks. Small yogurt cups, cut carrots, little cookies, two cups of juice. Napkins, spoons, everything neat and tidy. Beau wonders again how Jester could possibly think she and Yasha weren’t able to take care of themselves. “She was a bit overly dramatic.”

“Oh?” Yasha takes Beau’s arm, settling her thumb against Beau’s tattoo.

“Yash… do people just assume you can’t do things?”

“That’s a very… open-ended question,” Yasha says. “Like, driving? Yes, people assume I can’t do that.”

“No, more like… taking care of yourself,” Beau says.

“Most of the people I talk to know I can do that,” Yasha answers. “I don’t have a big social circle.”

“And you’ve never had people assume you needed help just because you’re blind?”

Yasha turns her head thoughtfully. “Lots of people do that. But they’re mostly strangers. Sometimes people talk really loudly at me, like I’m deaf. Sometimes people at the Shop-n-Go try to take my hand and lead me around the store, but that just messes up my orientation. Sometimes they treat me like a baby and praise me for doing the smallest things. A woman on the bus said, ‘Oh, it’s so good that you’re able to go on the bus by yourself!’”

“How did that make you feel?”

“Confused. How else was I supposed to get to the sports club?”

“That all sounds really hard. Why didn’t you ever tell me about it?”

Yasha’s eyes flick towards the windows. “Because I don’t like to dwell on the bad things that happen. There’s so many good things in my life right now.”

Beau nods thoughtfully. “You’re definitely right.”

Yasha reaches out and pulls Beau towards her. It makes Beau’s head throb, but she snuggles into Yasha.

“Oh, _slaj,”_ Yasha says, and Beau tenses.

“‘Oh, fuck,’ what?”

“I totally forgot to text Dina and tell her I got home safely. She’s probably got the town guards out looking for me.” Yasha carefully shifts Beau and takes her phone from her pocket. “I’ll give her a call right now.”

Beau’s getting sleepy, curled up against Yasha, and she half-listens as Yasha makes her phone call. _We don’t need anybody else,_ she thinks, the vibrations of Yasha’s voice resonating against her still-good ear. _We’re fine all by ourselves._

* * *

_take notes_

Yasha sits at the kitchen table, fingers moving over the Braille display of her notetaker. A small rectangular device with six rectangular keys, each corresponding to one of the six dots in a Braille cell, and a long strip of refreshable Braille at the bottom, it takes the place of a laptop and does nearly as much as one. Yasha keeps all sorts of things on it: music, books, her address book, her calendar, articles she wants to read, and, most importantly, her collection of lists.

Yasha _loves_ lists. She’s always loved them. Back in Xhorhas she’d make lists of all kinds of things: birds she’d seen, rocks she’d found, flowers she’d looked at. The times she and Zuala kissed (and usually where). Shopping lists. Lists of things to do for the week. Long lists of funny or inspiring things people said.

But all those lists are gone now, and Yasha’s left with the ones she’s made for herself in Nicodranas.

_This week._

_For Beau:_

_Schedule surgery consultation._

_Schedule surgery._

_Call Dairon to take time off from work._

_For Yasha:_

_Who drives? Can Beau drive? Find out._

_Call Keg to cancel sports center this week._

_Call Dina to cancel run this week._

_Go with Beau to appointments._

_Go grocery shopping._

Above her she hears the sounds of Beau moving around, followed by a crash and then: _“Shit!”_

Yasha bolts out of her chair and, hands out, feels her way around the corner to the stairs. She’s used to the house and doesn’t usually need her cane, but she suddenly wants the safety of her handheld “sight.”

“Beau?” she asks, trying to keep her voice steady. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Beau groans. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“I just… I fell.”

Yasha reaches the top of the stairs and trails her hand along the wall, making her way down to Beau’s room. “Do you need help?”

Beau chuckles, but Yasha hears it almost as a sob. “Just… c’mere.”

“Okay.” Yasha puts her hand out in front of her, waving it back and forth to make sure she doesn’t hit any obstacles as she makes her way across to Beau.

Beau reaches up and touches Yasha’s leg when she’s close enough, and Yasha squats down, getting closer to Beau on her hands and knees. “What do you need?” Yasha asks softly.

“I don’t like this,” Beau says. She wraps her arms around Yasha and, obligingly, Yasha scoops Beau into her lap. “My head is… pounding. My ear’s ringing. I tried to stand up and fell over.”

Her voice gets quiet. “What if I’m… not good anymore?”

“But you _are_ good,” Yasha says, confused. “You don’t do bad things.”

“I mean, what if my _body’s_ not good anymore?”

“I don’t think you have to worry about that,” Yasha says with a smile.

“Yasha,” Beau whispers. “I’m scared that I’m going to be different, and that I’m not going to like myself after all of this is over.”

Yasha considers this, and while her brain processes, she leans down and kisses Beau on the forehead. “Beau, do you think I ever imagined my life like this?”

“No,” Beau says.

“No. I thought I would always be one way, and my life would only go in one direction, and that even if things were hard, there would always be things worth fighting for. And then… I woke up in a government facility and I was blind. And then I came here, and I was still blind. And then people taught me it was okay to be blind, and I figured out how to do almost everything I did back in Xhorhas, just blind.” Yasha kisses Beau again. “Some things I do better blind.”

Beau reaches up and takes Yasha’s hand in hers, running her own thumb over Yasha’s wrist in a parallel of Yasha’s usual gesture. “Do you ever hate your body?”

 _“Hate_ my body?” Yasha thinks about this. “No. My body just… is. It’s me. And that means it’s blind, because I’m blind. But it took me a long time to think that way.”

She leans back against Beau’s bed. “Keg’s the one who taught me that.”

“Keg packs a lot of wisdom into one small package.”

“If anybody knows what it’s like to deal with having a body that’s one thing one minute and another thing one split second later, it’s Keg.”

“I’ve never known you as anything but blind, Yasha. So I don’t know what you were like before.”

“And I’ve never known you as anything but amazing,” Yasha replies. “So unless they’re going to take your head off during this surgery and replace it with someone else’s, I don’t think anything’s going to change.”

“What if I go deaf?”

“Then I learn how to sign.”

“What if… I end up in a coma?”

“Well, it might stop you from coming up with bizarre scenarios to torture yourself with.”

“Stop,” Beau protests weakly, even though she knows Yasha is right. “I’m serious.”

“Me too,” Yasha says. “You know how Dina still loves Ellie?”

“Yeah,” Beau says, thinking of the dark-haired girl and her affection for her brain-damaged once-girlfriend.

“Ellie wasn’t always like that. But she is the way she is, and Dina just… stays, because she loves her. And I’m not going to leave you if _you’re_ different, because I love you. Period.” Yasha leans close to Beau’s ear to say the last word. “Now, can I help you off this floor, or do you want to stay here all day?”

“Nnnno, we should probably get up,” Beau says with a sigh.

“That’s right. I have a lot of stuff for us to do.”

“Oh, not one of your famous lists.”

“You don’t know,” Yasha says, but she feels her cheeks get hot. “It could be anything.”

Beau reaches up and kisses Yasha. “I love you,” she whispers. “And that’s not going to change.”

 _“Pslaz ahnn,”_ Yasha says. _Damn straight._

* * *

_dreaming while you sleep_

Beau stares at the ceiling overhead, feeling pleasantly drowsy as she takes stock of her life. In recent months she’s been surrounded by so many wonderful people. They’ve given her space to grieve Yasha’s trauma, to help Yasha navigate that trauma. They’ve spent time at her side. They’ve let her cry, they’ve helped her to laugh. Dairon’s given her time off work, more than generous time off.

“Beau? Are you all right?”

“Hmmm?”

Yasha lets out a soft chuckle. “I think the drugs are kicking in, huh?”

“I just… love everyone… so much.” Beau feels tears welling up in her eyes. “They’re all so pretty, and _wonderful.”_

“Even Zeenoth?” Yasha asks, gently teasing. She knows that Beau and her coworker have somewhat of a love-hate relationship.

“Him the most,” Beau half-sobs. “Him and that stupid half-goatee he’s been trying to grow for a year.”

Yasha laughs. “I’ll tell him that.”

“Don’t you dare,” Beau says. “I’m still awake enough to know that would be a bad idea.”

She turns her head to look at Yasha. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Yasha says. “Hey, they’re going to kick me out of here any minute, so I just want to remind you that I love you.”

“They told me I won’t be able to hear you very well when I come out, ‘cause I’ll have a big bandage on my ear and around my head,” Beau says, fear starting to creep in over the blissful joy she’s been cultivating. “Tell me a secret so I can hear your voice.”

Yasha reaches out for the hospital bed, finds it, and leans in. She takes Beau’s hand in hers, pulls her mouth close to Beau’s ear, and says, softly but firmly, “You have my whole heart.”

Beau feels another wave of drowsiness rush over her. “Me too.”

“And when you wake up, I’ll be right there. I’m going to wait with your parents, and with Fjord and Jester, and we’ll be right here waiting for you.”

Beau comes up from darkness into silence, and she reaches out to the blurry world around her, her heart pounding in her ears. “Help,” she says, and she feels the word burble in her throat. She can’t figure out if it leaves her mouth. “Help me.”

Someone moves closer to her, a blurry blob of color. Beau doesn’t know who it is. “Beau,” a loud voice says. “Beau, you’re out of surgery. I need you to take some deep breaths and relax.”

“Help,” Beau repeats. Her throat is raw. “Help.”

“Take a deep breath,” the loud voice repeats. “You need to relax.”

A hand comes close to her face and Beau grabs it.

“Beauregard.” The voice is louder. “I’m going to give you some oxygen to help you breathe.”

Someone holds her hands down and another hand moves something soft and plasticky over her face. Beau feels a rush of air towards her face and something in her relaxes. “Yasha,” she garbles out against the mask. “Yasha.”

Whoever’s holding her hands lets go and Beau tries to reach out again. She sees two figures standing near her. “Yasha,” she says to one of them.

“You’ll be moved from the recovery room in a few minutes,” the one on her right says. “Please just relax until then.”

Beau tries to argue, but the oxygen over her face is surprisingly calming. She closes her eyes and the throbbing in her ears swallows her up.

* * *

_~~un~~ broken promises _

Yasha sits at Beau’s bedside, holding Beau’s hand. It’s been a long day, but Beau seems more relaxed than when she first came up to the floor. There was a great deal of thrashing and shouting at first, all from Beau, and a lot of attempted comfort, from Yasha, and medication, from the medical professionals.

“Beau,” Yasha says, slightly louder than normal, “how do you feel now?”

“I need… another tattoo.”

Yasha smiles. “What?”

“I can’t hear you on my right side… but my tattoo’s on that side…”

“Why don’t we reassess that when you’re a little less… drugged?”

“Do you like my tattoo?”

“You know I do.”

“What if… what if the other one said… ‘Beau’?”

“What will it be for, if you forget your name?”

“Yeah, you’re right, that’s dumb.” Beau yawns. “You’re so smart, Yasha.”

“I try.” Yasha kisses Beau on the nose. “Try to get some sleep, okay?”

“You’re just saying that ‘cause you’re gonna _leeeeeave_ when I fall asleep.”

“No, I’m not going to leave,” Yasha says. “I’m going to sit right here next to you and rest my eyes too.”

“Your eyes didn’t do any work today,” Beau says. “They never do.”

“You had surgery - your eyes weren’t doing all that much either,” Yasha retorts.

“Ohhh… you’re right. You’re _so_ smart. Well, just don’t leave, okay?”

“I won’t leave without saying goodbye,” Yasha promises.

“M’kay.” Beau goes quiet.

Yasha squeezes Beau’s hand, then leans back in the surprisingly comfortable visitor’s recliner. She closes her eyes.

Some time later - Yasha’s not quite sure how much time - she hears people in the room, but her drowsy brain somehow recognizes the voices don’t belong to Beau, and therefore aren’t important enough to wake up for.

“Who’s that?” one of the voices asks, and Yasha comes a little more awake, though she still keeps her eyes closed.

“That’s the girlfriend. I think she’s going to stay at least a while longer.”

“And she’s blind?”

“Yeah.”

“She’s blind, and the patient’s going to be half-deaf? Jesus.”

“I wouldn’t date anybody like that.”

“Nah, it’d be like taking care of a baby. Can’t ever see myself doing that.”

“I’d go crazy if I couldn’t see my husband’s face. He could be _anyone.”_

“Ha!”

Footsteps move in the opposite direction, away from Beau’s room, and Yasha opens her eyes, just briefly, to let the tears run down her cheeks. She squeezes her eyes closed and cries for a few minutes, just enough to let the weight of the world fall far enough away to be replaced by anger and deep sadness.

She kisses Beau’s hand and then gets her cane. She can’t be in the hospital anymore.

So for the first time in their relationship, Yasha breaks a promise to Beau, and she leaves.

* * *

_miriam's hand_

When darkness falls, Dina’s in her favorite place in the world: wherever Ellie is. And true, they’re not in Dina’s apartment kitchen, dancing together while Dina cooks one of her mom’s recipes, they’re in Joel’s living room with Ellie upright in her wheelchair hooked up to her feeding pump, holding hands, but it’s still almost like bliss. Ellie’s humming, stringing together almost all of the correct notes from a song Joel wrote for her. Dina bounces Ellie’s hand up and down on her own palm, which makes Ellie giggle every few minutes. The TV’s playing a rerun of “2 Broke Girls.”

It’s really, _really_ good.

“Dahhh,” Ellie says.

“What?” Dina asks, smiling.

 _“Dahhh,”_ Ellie repeats, a look of soft adoration on her face.

“Yes, I love you too.”

There’s a knock at the door, and Dina turns to look at the door. “El, did you order pizza?”

Ellie laughs.

Dina bounces Ellie’s hand once more, just for kicks, and then goes to the door and opens it.

Standing just outside, her face streaked with tears, her expression absolutely broken, is Yasha.

“Oh, Yasha,” Dina says, and throws her arms around the taller woman without hesitation. “What happened?”

“I can’t… I can’t be the broken one anymore.”

From inside the house, Ellie lets out a loud click, followed by a squeal that means _I want to see what’s going on and I can’t!_

“C’mon in,” Dina says. “Something tells me this needs a little explaining.”

She lets Yasha go, just enough to take Yasha’s hand and lead her inside the house. As soon as Ellie sees the two of them together, her eyes light up and she says, “Yahh!”

“At least someone’s always glad to see you,” Dina says, trying to cheer Yasha up.

Yasha just nods mutely.

“Hey, why don’t I get you some cocoa, and you go sit by Her Majesty over there?” Dina offers.

“Okay,” Yasha whispers.

Dina squeezes Yasha’s hand, then goes into the kitchen and flicks on the electric kettle.

Yasha makes her way around the chairs and finds the end of the couch closest to Ellie. She reaches out for Ellie’s hand and takes it in hers. Something in the slightly-atrophied grip causes another wave of grief to roll over Yasha, and she starts sobbing again.

“Hey, hey, none of that,” Dina says. “Whatever it is, it’s going to be okay. Take some deep breaths.”

She brings over a hot mug of cocoa and puts it on the coffee table, sitting down next to Yasha. “What happened? Something between you and Beau? If it’s a fight, you know we’re on your side.”

“Yahh,” Ellie agrees loyally.

As upset as she is, that brings a smile to Yasha’s face.

“See, there you go,” Dina says.

“It’s not a problem between me and Beau,” Yasha says, wiping some tears away from her eyes. “It’s… a problem with how everyone _sees_ me and Beau.”

“I’m assuming that’s _not_ as the strong, beautiful women you are,” Dina says.

Yasha shakes her head. “They see me as a burden. And Beau was worried she was going to be a burden now that she’s going to have hearing loss.”

“You’re not a burden.”

“I know that, but _other_ people don’t know that,” Yasha says. _“I_ know what I’m worth and what I can do, but other people… they just see someone who’s not worthy of being in a relationship.”

Ellie clicks and hums.

“If _you_ know you’re good enough and _you_ know Beau’s good enough… does it matter what anyone else thinks?”

“I guess not… it’s just… it hurts.”

“It always does,” Dina says. “Do you know what people say when the two of us go out?”

Ellie whistles.

“She just learned how to do that, by the way,” Dina says, sounding proud. “Well, _re-_ learned how to do that, I guess.”

“Good job,” Yasha says quietly, smiling.

“Anyway - people think I’m her sister… even though we look nothing alike. People think I’m her caregiver and they praise me for ‘doing God’s work.’” Dina snorts. “They think there’s no way that a disabled person and a non-disabled person would go out together unless they’re related or one of them’s being paid.”

She settles back on the couch. “I don’t know about you and Beau, but Ellie and I go out ‘cause the world’s too cool to stay inside all the time.”

Ellie chirps in agreement.

“I know I can’t fix whatever happened today. All I can do is tell you that I’d rather be happy with Ellie than… unhappy anywhere else. Even if this is all we ever do together. Even if this is the best it gets, it’s still better than a lot of things I _could_ be doing. I get to hang out with Ellie, with all of her issues, and she gets to hang out with _me,_ with all _my_ issues. And we’re happy, so that’s all that matters.”

Dina picks up the cooling cocoa and tests the outside of the mug with her hands before handing it to Yasha. “You are a good person, Yasha. You’ve overcome a lot and you deserve to be in a relationship where you’re loved - which is exactly what you and Beau have.”

Yasha takes a sip of cocoa. “I love her so much, and she’s sacrificed so much for me. But if being with me is going to make things harder for her -”

“Stop right there,” Dina says. “You don’t make things harder for Beau - you make them _easier,_ simply because you care for her.”

Yasha feels tears well up in her eyes again, and she quickly takes another drink of cocoa. “You’re very wise,” she says.

“Eh,” Dina says. “I have an older sister who makes a lot of those... ‘inspirational’ needlepoints.”

Yasha laughs.

“Just be glad you’re blind,” Dina says. “Some of them are hideous.”

Ellie clicks her tongue, as though agreeing.

“I’m going to give you something,” Dina says. “Well, two things. One is a ride back to the hospital to be with Beau. But the other…”

There’s a short pause, and then delicate fingers touch Yasha’s wrist. “I’m giving you my bracelet. It’s for good luck.”

Ellie whistles again.

“Yeah, yeah, I gave you a bracelet once too,” Dina says. “And you’re still wearing it, so both of us are lucky.”

“I don’t know if I believe in luck,” Yasha says as Dina gently sets something on her wrist.

“That’s the thing about luck - you don’t have to believe in it if someone else believes in it for you.”

Yasha frowns. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“You just said you don’t believe in it - how do you know how it works?” Dina finishes tying the bracelet to Yasha’s wrist and squeezes Yasha’s hand. “Now, c’mon, let’s get you back before Beau calls out the town guards to track you down.”

But when Yasha gets back to the hospital, Beau’s still asleep, and Yasha cries a few more tears - these ones happy.

She just might have to figure out this whole “luck” thing after all.

* * *

_don't do sadness_

“I’m thinking I’ll be glad I went with blue,” Beau says.

Yasha thinks about blue. “Lots of good things are blue. Blueberries are blue. Zuala’s pendant is blue.”

“My car is blue.”

“Is it?”

Beau laughs. “We’ve been together - how long, four years? And I never told you that?”

“I always thought it was red.”

“I like blue better,” Beau says. “You were wearing a blue shirt on the first day we met.”

She takes Yasha’s hand. “Dina’s bracelet has some blue on it.”

“You’re not mad another woman gave me jewelry, are you?”

“No, because you deserve to be spoiled, and I don’t have the budget to do it.” 

Yasha laughs.

The door opens and Yeza, the audiologist, enters. “Hello, Ms. Lionett,” he says. “Much as I just opened that door, are you ready to open the door to better hearing?”

Both women laugh, and Yeza beams. “My wife thinks that’s a terrible opener, but everyone seems to like it.”

He’s so earnest that Beau feels happier just looking at him. “I’m ready, Dr. Brenatto.”

“I told you to call me Yeza,” he says, which he did. “Now, let’s get this hearing aid fitted.”

He takes a small box from his lab coat pocket as he sits down on a rolling stool. As he approaches, he opens the box to show Beau exactly what he promised: her new hearing aid. The blue ear-mold sparkles with inset glitter, and the plastic color of the behind-the-ear amplifier perfectly matches Beau’s skin tone.

“How’s it look?” Yasha asks.

“I think it’s more about how it works,” Yeza says.

“But it looks really cool,” Beau whispers, which makes Yasha smile.

Yeza carefully fits the ear-mold into Beau’s ear, gently curling the amplifier over the top. “Okay, Ms. Lionett, let’s start this up.”

Beau waits, feeling Yeza’s fingers touch her ears a few more times. Then she hears a whine. And after the whine, Yeza’s voice, whispering close to her right ear. “How’s that?”

Beau grins. “It’s really, _really_ good.”

“Excellent,” Yeza declares. “We’ll have to do some more testing after you’ve been wearing it for two weeks, but I can’t see any reason not to let you out of here with two functional ears. I’m sure you’ve got lots of great things to listen to that aren’t some boring doctor.”

He hands Beau some informational pamphlets and a dehumidifier box, then shoos them out the door.

Once they’re standing outside the audiologist’s office, Beau pulls on Yasha’s arm. “C’mere.”

“What?” Yasha asks, smiling.

“I got to listen to a middle-aged doctor whisper in my ear, I think I need some other whispers to, you know, clear that out.”

“Do I have to call you ‘Ms. Lionett’ when I do so?”

“Don’t tell anyone, but I think it might be hotter if you do.”

“Well then, Ms. Lionett,” Yasha says, and then she leans in close and whispers, “I think I believe in luck now.”

“I’ve always believed in it,” Beau whispers back. “There’s absolutely no other explanation for how I ended up with you.”

As they walk down the street together, Yasha says, “Do you still think you need a new tattoo?”

“No, I think that idea was fueled by a lot of really nice drugs.”

“Hmm. Well, I guess it’s good I went alone, then.”

“What?” Beau stops in mid-stride. “Say more right now!”

Yasha grins and pulls up her sweater sleeve, holding her arm out towards Beau.

Beau takes it, moving her fingers over Yasha’s wrist, and somehow finds the movement absolutely instinctive. Braille dots line up under her fingertips.

F. L. Y.

“You gave me wings,” Yasha says, whispering in Beau’s ear.

“Technically Caduceus did,” Beau says, but only to cover the fact that she’s trying very hard not to cry.

Yasha kisses her. “Okay, then, you continue to _give_ me wings.”

“Yasha Nydoorin, you are the most grossly romantic woman I’ve ever been with.”

“Mm. Maybe you should do something about it.”

“Take me home, then,” Beau says, gently pushing Yasha’s shoulder as though it’s a dare.

“With pleasure,” Yasha replies, her head held high.

Yasha navigates them home, white cane in the lead, and Beau thinks absolutely nothing of how the two of them must look together. All she knows is the feeling of her hand on Yasha’s elbow, and all the joyful noise waiting for her wherever they end up, just waiting for her to come and listen.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr as memorysdaughter.


End file.
